Have A Cup Of Tea
by WaitingWatching
Summary: It had turned into a strange sort of life line for the personification of England. How to cope with the World, when it was all turned against him. A collection of stories, containing most Nations, mainly centred on the World Wars from the England's PoV.
1. Have A Cup Of Tea

It was strange to think that tea had only been around in England for about three-hundred and fifty years. That's what Arthur thought anyway. He'd latched onto the drink, and quite simply adored it. Whatever brand or flavour, and he'd seen a great many, he loved the taste, the smell and the way it warmed his insides when he was at his coldest. Though stereotypes were rarely accurate, and of course not every English person even liked the beverage, it was true enough to say that a fair portion of his people were just as found of tea as he was.

'_Why don't you just come in, and we'll have a cup of tea and sort this out...'_

It had turned into a strange sort of life line for the personification of England. A reflex reaction to all and every situation he came up again. You enter a crisis and if you are anywhere near a kettle,

'_Does anyone want a drink? We can have a cup of tea and just talk this over...'_

Every house in his country contained some of the stuff, if only for when guests came over,

'_I haven't seen you in a while, love. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?'_

But Arthur was a Nation, and thus had more demanding situations. And always, tea was his fall back.

_This will be a collection of Stories mainly focusing around the first and seconds world war, from England's perspective. Feedback would be greatly appreciated, as would suggestions on historical events that could be included. Thankyou for reading~_


	2. When The Great War Commences

The door to the meeting room slammed open with such force that England almost fell backwards off his chair. The other Nations in the room all looked similarly shocked, and some even more so when they realised it was _Austria _of all people that had just crashed into the room.

However, most of them knew all too well what was about to go down. It took the normally reserved and dignified musician all of fifteen seconds to cross the room and lunge himself at Serbia.

Both nations crashed to the floor, Austria landing on top of the smaller Nation with Serbia letting out a screech in his language. England was on his feet in seconds, seeing Russia and a few others leap up in sync. Even as they did so, Hungary shot into the room after Austria, shouting in Hungarian and English, so England could only understand part of what she was saying. She pulled Austria off his target, sending Serbia a foul look as she did. Serbia recoiled under her glare and jumped to his feet, adopting a defensive position.

"How dare you," Austria spat out, his purple eyes almost crazed with anger.

Serbia's glare hardened. "Bosnia does not want to be under your rule," he replied, balling his hands into fists. England shifted slightly, not wanting for a fistfight to start between the two. The atmosphere in Europe was tense enough as it was. A war between Serbia and Austria were all that they needed...

"You shot his boss!" Hungary snarled, looking almost as furious as Austria, though that was more characteristic for her and her grip on Austria did not loosen.

"The Black Hand-" Serbia started before Austria had pulled himself from Hungary's grip and started forwards towards. Halfway through his sentence, Serbia said something that changed history.

"Russia!"

England froze in the act of moving to stop Austria repeating his attack. All eyes locked on the tall form of the personification of Russia.

The man looked relaxed and at ease, a thoughtful, childish smile on his face. He nodded slowly. A bolt of fear shot down England's spine; Russia and Serbia had an old alliance, though their Nations were not particularly friendly. They were playing politics now and the Nations of the World were completely silent, watching and waiting.

Austria let out a inaudible hiss, and didn't pause to watch Russia move behind Serbia. Instead his gaze swung to Germany, purple eyes meeting blue. The latter pair looked away, glancing around the room before turning back to Austria and the silent Hungary behind him. Then he too nodded.

France had been seated next to England- in reflection of the geographically arranged seating plan-, so the latter couldn't help but notice how the blonde stiffened besides him. He knew why; France was suspicious of Germany, and now he was playing out the actions of his nation; mobilizing for war.

They wouldn't know the justification till later, but no one missed Germany's gaze flicking from Russia, to Belgium, to France. Belgium's eyes widened minutely as she realised that she was directly between the French and German men. Not even needing to speak to her, England knew perfectly well that he would defend her if Germany invaded; he was obliged to. Britain had given its word that if Belgium was attacked, they would retaliate. In the otherwise motionless room, no one missed England fold his arms, eyes narrowed.

Whispers broke out amongst the room, and there was a surge of movement as the Nations shifted. Turning to each other and calling up all knowledge of treaties and alliances, trying to foresee the future of the apparent war. A few countries were already leaving the Meeting Room, Switzerland among them, making their positions clear. Some remained, however, and dread hung over the room like a cloud.

After a few seconds of eyeing each other up all the Nations slunk out the room, presumably to report to their bosses. England did not miss someone spit at Serbia, whether it was Austria or Hungary he was uncertain. Eventually, England was left alone in the cold room. He sank back into his chair and turned his gaze to the drink he's left on the table when Austria had slammed in.

It'll be over by Christmas.

_When the Great War commences, have a cup of tea..._


	3. When Having Christmas In The Trenches

He knew that many people had called for a ceasefire. British Suffragists had tried it, a series of letters between them and German, Austrian and American women he thought, though he could barely remember something like that now. Though Italy's Pope had tried too, he remembered that, something about singing angels... But all attempts for a Christmas ceasefire were rejected by his government, and those of his allies and enemies.

None of this mattered much to England, in his current predicament. He was somewhere in France, sitting caked in mud in one of his trenches. The soldiers around him were subdued, though somewhat comforted by the good weather. They were talking of Christmas, discussing presents and loved ones, trying to feel goodwill when all around them was decay. Fatigue washed over England, vaguely numbing the pain all over his body that had been brought on by the war. It was supposed to be over by now, wasn't it?

Dull blue eyes flicked round the muddied walls and the dirty water that had collected on the floor. Suddenly, he just couldn't stand staying there any longer. England slipped silently away from his troops, and scaled the muddy wall up so he could just see over the top.

It was dark, though the field of no-man's land was just illuminated by the glow of the moon. Nothing was stirring, except somewhere to his left were a watch man was moving about. England let out a soft sigh, not knowing what he had expected, and started to move back down. But then someone began to sing.

He could tell immediately it was not English. After all, it was his language and he was very well acquainted with German by now. But despite this, it was obvious what was being sung. Kraut's, singing Christmas carols? Lights were appearing along the enemy trenches, an action that wouldn't go unnoticed by England's soldiers. It was only seconds before the word was spread, and more heads poked out to better see the phenomenon. There was a long silence as the song was carried over the flat plain, and one that stretched on after it had stopped. Pulling himself up so he was resting on his hands, England softly started to sing back. He's tried to not let the troops below hear him, but evidently they did and the tune was picked up and amplified.

There were more lights along the edge of the trenches, and mutterings about the enemy wanting a concert, which made England smile. That would be Austria's influence; England could not imagine Germany organising a concert for his troops. Knowing that this was probably one of the most stupid things he could do in his very long life, but doing it anyway, England scrambled up the rest of the way and let his weapons drop back into the darkness he'd climbed out of. Ignoring his Commanders orders to get back, England silently walked out into no-man's land.

Nations had practice at being silent and unseen, England being no exception. He walked like a ghost, smiling slightly as a few other men scrambled out of the trenches still singing their carols. The German troops were moving too, and England knew who would be among them. He kept walking, out of sight of the Humans and stopped when he reached a slight mound of churned earth. Seating himself at the top of it, he folded his arms round his knees and waited.

"Hello, England."

England turned around and stood up in one fluid motion. Germany's blue eyed gaze met his own green, unwavering and cautious.

"Guten Abend, Germany," England replied, folding his arms and rocking back on his feet, feeling nervous and so very tired.

Germany smiled slightly, the expression looking out of place on his scarred and filthy face. Raising his empty hands up in a reassuring gesture he slowly walked forward, giving time for the other to move away. When England didn't, Germany moved to stand next to him though a distance away. They stood side by side, looking back at were a group of men stood at the centre of no-man's land, weapon less and talking.

A rustle of clothing and paper caused England to glance to his side, and he watched uncomprehendingly as Germany produced a brown package from his deep uniform pockets.

"Here," Germany said, sounding stiff, offering the item to England who took it carefully.

Shooting another look at Germany, he slowly un-wrapped the paper and looked at the sticky brown substance inside. He couldn't stop his eyes from widening, in disbelief and a dim glow of something like happiness.

"Chocolate cake?"

Germany shrugged, looking awkward. "An offering in return of a ceasefire. So we can have the...concert."

England smiled. Digging into his own pocket, he pulled out a box and passed it to Germany.

"It's tobacco."

"Danke."

The silence stretched on, not awkward but a far throw from companionable. More troops were flooding onto the forbidden plain, some bringing gifts to exchange, others singing and some moved towards the fallen soldiers to take them back inside the trenches to be buried.

After time, England wrapped the cake back up and put it into his pocket. "I hope to see you, when this war is over, Germany."

"We share the same wish," Germany responded with a slow nod, the pale light making his eyes and hair glow silver. "Frohe Weihnachten, England."

"Merry Christmas, Germany."

England snuck back into his trenches, smiling at the mixture of English and German insults towards the French beer being passed around, and made his way towards a group of Commanders who'd given up trying to force the troops back to their posts.

"Where have you been, Arthur?" Asked one he was more friendly with, pausing from handing around drinks.

Decidedly ignoring the question, he pushed the wrapped cake into the man's hands and took one of the cups. England inhaled the familiar scent, gulped down some of the liquid and relished in the way the tea almost burnt his throat.

_When Having Christmas In The Trenches, have a cup of tea..._


End file.
